


The Forgotten Prince

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Downton Abbey Fusion, F/M, Finding Family, M/M, Running Away
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22919878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The queen cut him off with a look. “Your title can’t protect you here, Jon, and I can’t allow you to continue with this lifestyle.”What lifestyle?! He wanted to scream but his throat had closed up, and he could only gape at her dumbly.“The only solution is for you to be wed and tucked away out of sight for a while,” she finished. “You should be grateful to your cousin, Jon. Even knowing your reputation, he has enough care for you to see that you are settled.”His sudden fear helped him find his voice. “What?” he asked, glancing between his grandmother and Viserys, who was now wearing the cruelest and most triumphant smile Jon had ever seen.“You are to marry Viserys,” the queen declared. “As soon as possible, and I won’t hear any argument on the subject.”(The Downton Abbey fusion no one asked for)
Relationships: Arianne Martell/Aegon VI Targaryen, Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Gilly/Samwell Tarly, Jon Snow/Robb Stark, Khal Drogo/Daenerys Targaryen, Stannis Baratheon/Rhaenys Targaryen, Theon Greyjoy/Ygritte
Comments: 20
Kudos: 124





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is alpha/beta/omega only because I wanted mpreg to make sense in this universe, not that it will be a part of this story. Just the idea of it, really. Also, I changed it so Aerys and Rhaella weren't married because, since this is set in the real world in roughly the Downton Abbey timeframe, incest would not have been acceptable.

Jon smiled politely at the footman who stood at attention next to the breakfast bar, ready to jump into action if he were to ask for anything. Unsurprisingly, the young beta, William, if Jon recalled correctly, barely glanced at him as Jon placed his food on his plate. His butler, the tall and imposing Hudson, loomed in the corner of the room, keeping a hawk-like eye on both Jon and William.

Honestly, Jon sometimes felt that, despite the fact that he was technically the master of the house, Hudson was the one who really called the shots.

The technicality, of course, came in to play because Jon had never really been consulted on any of the decisions regarding the staff of Dragonstone House. As a property of the crown, the staff was hired and organized by the crown. In truth, Jon had no idea who actually was in charge of his staff. If he had to guess, he would assume his Uncle Aerys, who resided at the nearby Dragonstone Palace, managed things.

Whoever managed his staff, it was far larger than what Jon really had need for. With a butler, two footmen, a housekeeper, two maids, and a cook, it was a bit much to see to the needs of just one person. Jon rationalized it by the size of the house itself, which again, was much too large for just him.

“Has the mail arrived yet?” Jon asked Hudson as he buttered his toast, taking care to keep his movement unhurried and precise so as not to be subjected to Hudson’s judgmental glare. His butler had a certain idea about how a prince of the blood should act, and though he would never dare scold Jon directly, he certainly had a way of letting Jon know he was a disappointment.

“It has, your highness, but there were no letters for you,” he answered.

Jon didn’t know why his heart sank at the words, or why he even allowed his hopes to build up. He should have known there’d be no letter for him. Other than the odd missive from Dany, and the monthly letter from his grandmother, no one ever wrote him.

He missed Dany fiercely. She had eloped with a Turkish horse-breeder last year to much surprise and scandal, though she had warned Jon of her plans. He wasn’t surprised. Uncle Aerys and Viserys, Dany’s brother, were not the most caring people in the world and were more than a bit misogynistic. If Jon had to live with them day-end and day-out, he might be looking for a quick escape as well.

He never looked forward to his grandmother’s letters nearly as much as he did Dany’s. The queen was keen to know he was well-situated, but Jon didn’t delude himself with believing she cared more than she had to about him. Like most of the country, Queen Rhaella had not been happy with her son’s decision to marry again so quickly after the death of his first wife.With both his older half-siblings in line for the throne ahead of him, as an omega prince, Jon was neatly tucked away at Dragonstone House at the age of 14 after his own mother had died, away from the public eye and away from the pomp and circumstance of royal life.

The latter of which he was actually grateful for. He remembered the dull high society gatherings he had attended as a child when his father was still alive. He just wished he wasn’t so far removed from society in general. The only people he spoke to on any regular basis outside of the servants, all of whom were too afraid to speak too freely around him, were his uncle and cousin at Dragonstone Palace.

Jon might not have enjoyed the more formal social gatherings, but he had enjoyed being around people before his mother died, particularly when they had visited his Uncle Brandon at Winterfell Castle in Yorkshire or his Uncle Eddard in America. Jon had been particularly close with his cousins in America, and together they would often spend summers at Winterfell.

Those summers must have meant more to Jon than them, though, as he hadn’t heard anything from any of them since his mother’s funeral. Their silence had caused his already broken heart to further crack, but Jon tried not to think about any of them too much. It only made the pain worse.

“A note did come for you, though, from the palace,” Hudson’s voice cut through his musings. William appeared at Jon’s side, holding a silver platter out with an envelope he recognized as his uncle’s stationary.

To Jon’s surprise, it was an invitation to dine at the palace that evening. Though Jon’s own home was often invaded by Aerys or Viserys or both, he was rarely asked up to the palace. And if he was, it was often for luncheon or tea. The idea of dinner with his uncle and cousin, though, filled him with dread. The whole affair would likely take at minimum two hours, and he didn’t know if he could handle their leering for that long. 

Not to mention he’d have to dress for it. Wearing anything but white tie would be seen as an insult.Uncle Aerys would be too busy undressing him with his eyes to notice, really, but Viserys was particularly cruel when insulted.

“You’ll have to have Tollett lay out my tails for tonight, Hudson,” Jon said, trying to keep his voice neutral. Hudson, he knew, was extremely loyal to his uncle. No use antagonizing his butler over the entire situation. “I’ll be dining up at Dragonstone.”

“Very good, your highness.”

#

Arya’s eyes widened as the car pulled up the long drive to Winterfell Castle. It had been five years since her family had last visited her father’s ancestral home, and she had forgotten how big it was. There was nothing so grand in America.

It was no reason to stay, though, she thought grumpily. What little she had seen of British society, Arya had hated. They were all so stuffy and stuck up. She still didn’t understand why the entire family had to come live at Winterfell. It was Robb that had to learn how to be a stupid earl.

“It’s a little different than New York, isn’t it?” Sansa remarked with a frown on her face. For once, she and Arya were in complete agreement, albeit for different reasons. While Arya was dreading British society, Sansa was horrified at being so far from the dress shops of New York. Sansa always did have skewed priorities.

“We all used to love spending your summers here, if you remember,” Robb, the only other occupant of their car, reminded them. Their parents were in the car ahead of them with Bran and Rickon. “It won’t be so bad. Besides, it won’t be forever. Not for you, at least.”

Arya felt a wave of sympathy for her older brother. Uncle Brandon had surprised them all a few years ago by announcing that he did not intend to marry and have an heir of his own. Of course, after the announcement, Arya had overheard her mother remark to her father that, if Brandon hadn’t already had a dozen illegitimate children, he probably wasn’t _able_ to have an heir. She had really only understood that comment a couple of years later.

“I don’t understand why Uncle Benjen can’t be the next earl,” Arya said with a scowl. “Why’s it got to be you?”

“Because father is next in line,” Robb explained with a shrug. “After him, it’s me, and then Bran and, then Rickon, and _then_ Uncle Benjen. Father will technically inherit the title before me, but he’s going to abdicate if I’m ready to take it by then.”

Arya was about to ask why she and Sansa weren’t in line for the title, but before she could, the car came to a stop and a footman was opening the door. She thought it was a little excessive to have the entire household lined up to greet them, but she knew that was how it was always done. Ever since she was little, she remembered all the staff standing to attention in a straight line to watch them arrive.

At least now it made a bit more sense, what with Robb set to take over the earldom and management of the estate.

“There he is!” Uncle Brandon’s voice boomed out as he stepped away from where he was greeting their parents and greeted Robb with a hearty handshake and clap on the shoulder. From an American perspective, it was a rather reserved way to greet a nephew, but Arya knew from experience that it was rather exuberant for an Englishman.

She felt a keen ache for her Aunt Lyanna as first Brandon and then Benjen greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. She had never cared much for the stereotypical reservedness of the English and had always been quick to sweep them all into hugs.

“Goodness, but you girls have blossomed into beauties,” their grandmother remarked as she greeted them both. “Though I do hope it isn’t ruined by typical American brashness.”

“Mother,” Brandon admonished lightly, catching Arya’s eye and giving her a wink. “You’re hardly one to talk when it comes to brashness.”

Arya bit her lip to hold in her giggle. The Dowager Countess of Winterfell was certainly not a shrinking violet herself.

“Besides, Mama,” their mother cut in, giving her a sharp smile, “from what I hear, it isn’t the grandchildren _we’ve_ given you that you should be concerned about.”

“Well,” she huffed with a curious expression on her face, “there’s no use dragging up the black sheeps of the family so early in the reunion.”

Arya frowned, not really understanding what they meant. As far as she knew, Granny only had one other grandchild, but, though she hadn’t seen Jon in a long while, Arya really could not imagine her quiet and thoughtful cousin as a “black sheep.”

She managed to contain her curiosity until later when she burst into Sansa’s room to question her sister. Ordinarily, she would have gone to Robb for answers, but she knew Robb always got a bit sad when he thought of Jon. Their omega cousin had cut off all contact with any of them after Aunt Lyanna died, but it had been particularly hard on Robb. Secretly, Arya thought it was because her brother had had a childhood crush on their royal cousin, but she wasn’t mean enough to tease him about it. Especially _now_.

“Why did Granny call Jon a black sheep?” she demanded to know.

Sansa gave her an annoyed look as she supervised a redheaded maid unpacking her luggage. “How should I know? You’re the one who’s always eavesdropping.”

“But how could _Jon_ be a black sheep?” Arya wondered, flopping down on Sansa’s bed dramatically. “Jon never even cheated at blind man’s bluff, and _everyone_ cheats at blind man’s bluff.”

Sansa rolled her eyes. “I don’t think children’s games are the best measure of character.”

Arya sighed heavily. Why had she thought Sansa would be any help?

#

“The young ladies don’t know about Prince Jon,” Ygritte whispered to Gilly as soon as they both went through the green baize door and began walking downstairs for the servants’ tea.

The other maid’s eyes widened. “I thought everyone knew about him!” she hissed back. “The whole country knows about it. They’ll have to be warned. What if he comes about and they don’t know!”

Ygritte shook her head. “Mr. Eddard and Lady Catelyn will set them right,” she said with a nod. “Not that he’d ever come about _here_. He hasn’t so much as sent a letter to Winterfell in five years.”

“What are you two gossiping about?” Mrs. Mordane’s voice behind them interrupted their whispering. “If the two of you don’t have enough work to do, I’m sure I can find you something.”

Ygritte and Gilly both cringed at being caught by the strict housekeeper. “We were just heading down to tea, Mrs. Mordane,” Ygritte replied, purposefully ignoring the gossiping comment.

She gave them both a stern gaze before nodding and waving them off. They both giggled when they were far enough away that she couldn’t hear. They paused when they got to the servant’s hall, though, startled to see a presence they didn’t know waiting in the chair by the fire.

“Hello,” the rotund man greeted as he stood to greet them. Ygritte blinked as she took in the subtle scent that marked him as an alpha. She had never seen an alpha that looked as harmless a this man.

“Hello,” she returned, rolling her eyes at Gilly’s wide-eyed stare at the newcomer and shaking the hand he had held out. “Who are you?”

“Oh!” he said, as if just remembering that he hadn’t introduced himself. “I’m Samwell Tarly. Mr. Eddard Stark hired me to be his new valet and arranged for me to meet him here.”

“Well, Mr. Tarly, you’re just in time. The American Starks just arrived an hour or so ago. I think one of the footmen have already sorted out Mr. Eddard’s luggage,” Ygritte told him. “Does Mr. Mormont know you’ve arrived?”

Tarly nodded. “Yes, and Mrs. Mordane has got me all settled in a room upstairs. Just in time for tea and then the dressing gong. I guess I’ll meet Mr. Eddard then.”

“Are you the old man’s new man, then?” an American-accented voice asked, tone making clear that the owner found Tarly a bit wanting. A man Ygritte recognized as arriving with the American Starks sauntered in the room with such swagger that she was surprised to realize he was just a beta. “I hope you’re not as useless as the last one.”

Gilly glared at him. “And who are you to talk?” she snapped with more heat than Ygritte thought she was capable of.

“Theon Greyjoy,” he stated proudly. “Mr. Robb’s valet. Now who’s this prince everyone is talking about?”

Ygritte narrowed her eyes at him. “You were eavesdropping on us!” she accused.

“Yes, I was,” Greyjoy answered with zero shame. “I make it a point to know everything that’s happening around me so I’m never caught unaware.”

She scowled. “Well, if you’re such a good little sleuth, you can figure out who Prince Jon is all on your own.”

Ygritte made it a point to change the subject and keep the topic of conversation at tea away from Prince Jon, Princess Lyanna, or any member of the royal family, just to spite Greyjoy, who seemed to have a permanent smirk glued to his mouth.

#

Jon scowled at his reflection as Tollett helped him into his dinner jacket. He hated white tie. The stiff collar dug uncomfortable into his neck and the tailor jacket made it so that he had to keep his back straight as a board, which grew uncomfortable after about half an hour.

He thought the whole polished look was ruined by his mass of curls, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. Tollett had tamed them as much as he could. As an omega male, he was expected to have longer hair that was not as coifed and slicked down with pomade as male alphas and betas. At least, not for a formal dinner. He supposed he should be grateful that he wasn’t expected to have waist-length hair pinned up in tight hairstyles like females.

“The car’s waiting for you out front, your highness,” Tollett told him.

“Thank you, Tollett,” Jon said, making sure to send his valet a small smile. He might hate dressing in tails, but it at least easier to do with Tollett’s help. Besides, Tollett could use a little bit of cheering up at times. The man was almost as dour as Jon was most days.

The short car ride to Dragonstone Palace was uneventful. He took a deep breath as they pulled to a stop and a footman opened his door. 

Jon always thought Dragonstone to be a dark and gloomy place. Nothing like Winterfell Castle.Of course, that might have been the memories associated with them. Winterfell represented his joy-filled childhood. Dragonstone symbolized his lonely adolescence. He absently wondered if another great estate would shape his adulthood.

He was jarred out of his thoughts as he was announced into the drawing room and, sitting in between his uncle and cousin, was his grandmother.

Jon’s breath caught in his throat as he froze, not expecting the queen to be sitting in her childhood harm nursing a glass of wine and giving him an unimpressed stare.

“Grandmother,” he greeted breathlessly. The queen had always been “grandmother” to him. Always formal. Never anything as informal as “Granny,” like he had always called his mother’s mother. “I didn’t realize you would be here.”

“No, I expect you didn’t,” she replied in a frosty voice.

Jon kept his face blank, but winced on the inside. Ever since his mother had died, it seemed like his grandmother had closed off from him as well. Every time her eyes caught sight of him, all that filled them was disappointment.

“We shall talk after dinner,” she decreed, standing and causing Aerys and Viserys to jump to their feet as well. “Shall we go through?”

Dinner was a torturous affair with stilted conversation. The queen was not overly fond of her brother and spoke as little to him as possible. Uncle Aerys, of course, was still bitter at his older sister, a _woman_ , receiving the crown over him because he was an omega. Viserys spoke little as well, spending most of the meal eyeing Jon as if he’d rather be having _him_ for dinner.

Between avoiding Viserys’s leer and attempting to understand his grandmother’s odd visit, Jon spent the entire meal in silence. Which apparently did not sit well with the queen.

“Since it doesn’t appear as if anyone is enjoying their meal as it is, we might as well move on to unpleasant topics,” she said after they had been served their savory course. That was apparently the butler and footmen’s cue to leave the room. 

Not that it matter, really, thought Jon. They’ll only be eavesdropping on the other side of the door.

“Grandmother, I am afraid—”

“No, Jon, I do not want to hear your excuses or your denials,” Rhaella stated firmly, nearly outright glaring at him with flashing violet eyes. “This has gone on long enough.”

He frowned at that. What on earth was she talking about?

“I’ve let scandal after scandal go, believing it to be just a phase,” she continued to his growing confusion. Scandal? “I realize you were grieving your mother at first, but now it has gone on too long. It is inexcusable.”

“Grandmother—” he tried once again to cut again, not understanding what was going on.

“No, Jon,” she said firmly. She took a deep breath before letting it out heavily. “You’ve utterly ruined your prospects, you know? No one wants to marry the prince that’s fallen into bed with more people than can be counted, if rumor is to be believed.”

Jon’s blood ran cold. Fallen into bed? She couldn’t mean what he thought she did. “But grandmother—”

The queen cut him off with a look. “Your title can’t protect you here, Jon, and I can’t allow you to continue with this lifestyle.”

What lifestyle?! He wanted to scream but his throat had closed up, and he could only gape at her dumbly.

“The only solution is for you to be wed and tucked away out of sight for a while,” she finished. “You should be grateful to your cousin, Jon. Even knowing your reputation, he has enough care for you to see that you are settled.”

His sudden fear helped him find his voice. “What?” he asked, glancing between his grandmother and Viserys, who was now wearing the cruelest and most triumphant smile Jon had ever seen.

“You are to marry Viserys,” the queen declared. “As soon as possible, and I won’t hear any argument on the subject.”

tbc…


	2. Chapter Two

His grandmother had dismissed him after dinner, waving off his stuttering protestations as excuses that she didn’t want to hear. Unable to fight the condemnation that had blindsided and wanting to avoid Viserys, he had quickly fled the palace.

Viserys. _His soon-to-be husband_. 

He stuffed his fist in his mouth to stifle his anguished sob and pointedly did not look up to see whatever judgment that was sure to be on the chauffeur’s face.

Jon had always known that he would have to marry eventually. Whenever he had dared to envision it, though, he had always had an idea of the sort of alpha he would end up with. A kind, considerate alpha who would care for him and treat him with respect. When he was younger, he had a clear idea of who he had wanted that alpha to be…

That was in the past though. While he had let go of that _particular_ dream, he hadn’t considered that he would be given to someone like Viserys.

He had seen the treatment Viserys routinely gave the servants, and had heard of the terror he had inspired in Dany, his own sister. Jon was under no illusions that his status as prince and husband would protect him from Viserys’s cruelties. What law would protect him? Who in society would condemn him?

As Viserys’s husband, Jon would be his to do with what he wished, and if Jon had somehow acquired the reputation his grandmother seemed to believe, who in society would fault him for giving his omega a firm hand?

He thankfully had enough dignity to escape to his own room before he completely broke down.

Jon sank down onto his bed, shoulders shaking as he buried his face in his hands. He didn’t understand any of what was happening to him. The idea of marrying Viserys loomed large in his mind, but the reasons his grandmother had given him made no sense to him.

Her incomprehensible words of scandal and falling into bed with others ran through his head. If anything, Jon had become sort of a recluse since his mother had died. Even if he had wanted to fall into bed with someone, he hadn’t met anyone to do so with! 

He cringed in embarrassment as his door opened. He looked up to see Tollett standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“I thought you would need my help to undress, your highness,” the man said hesitantly.

Jon cleared his throat and nodded, desperately trying to rein in his emotions. Tollett was just trying to do his job. No need to cause him any stress by making him deal with Jon’s turmoil. “Of course,” he said hoarsely.

Tollett stepped into the room and closed the door. “If I may, your highness, are you alright?”

He bit his lip and looked down, unaccustomed to having anyone worry about his wellbeing. “The queen tells me that I am ruined and the only way to save me is for me to marry Viserys,” he admitted, not bothering to tell Tollett how confused he was. Jon was sure that, if he tried to explain, he would collapse in on himself once more.

Tollett surely didn’t care either way anyway.

“You must not let them win, your highness,” Tollett stated firmly, causing him to look at him in shock.

“What?”

“Your uncle and cousin,” he replied, determination burning in his eyes. “They’ve done this. They’ve spread lies about you throughout the country, telling tales of parties and gambling and all sorts of infamy. Most of your household is in their pockets, keeping your letters from you and making sure you have no contact with anyone they don’t want.”

A sick feeling was settling in the pit of Jon’s stomach as he listened to his valet. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.

“I believed it, too, your highness, when I came to work for you a year ago,” Tollett told him, giving him a sad sort of smile. “But I was desperate for work, you see. That’s how they keep the staff in line. They hire those that are desperate. But you deserve better than them, and who knows what else they’ll plot if they have you in their grasp.”

Jon knew, he realized with dawning horror. Dany had told him when she had confided in him about his uncle’s plans to marry her to Jon’s brother Aegon. They were after the throne anyway they could get it. 

“There’s nothing I can do,” he said, sagging in defeat. “They’ve already won. The queen says I have to marry Viserys. I can’t go against her word. It’s treason if I do.”

“The queen wouldn’t want you to marry Viserys if she knew the truth!” Tollett argued.

Jon shook his head, tears gathering in his eyes. “She wouldn’t listen to me. She would barely _look_ at me other than to glare at me in disappointment.”

In that moment, Jon wished more than anything that his mother was here. She would be able to make things right. Then again, she probably would just be disappointed in Jon, too. After, Lyanna Stark would never have let Aerys and Viserys to manipulate her into their clutches.

And Jon had let this happen. Why hadn’t he tried harder to speak out? Why hadn’t he taken charge of his own household staff? When he had received no letters from any of his other family, why hadn’t he sought them out? Not only his mother’s family, but he had had a good relationship with his half-sister before his mother had died. There had been absolutely nothing to keep him from visiting her.

He might not have done any of the scandalous things the whole country believed that he had, but he _had_ let this happen.

“If you only give her time…” Tollett suggested, but Jon shook his head once more.

“There is no time,” he said sadly. “I’m to marry Viserys as soon as possible. He’ll be my husband within the month, no doubt.”

“Not if you’re not here to marry him,” he said triumphantly.

Jon’s eyes widen as he looked at his valet in shock. “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Surely the Earl of Northumberland could help you?” Tollett said. “He is your uncle, after all. He could protect you.”

“From the queen?” Jon asked with a wet laugh. “I’d not ask him to commit treason for me.”

“You’d rather marry Viserys? Your highness, he would not be a good husband…” Naked worry for him shined in Tollett’s eyes.

In truth, Jon was _terrified_ at the idea of having Viserys as a husband. “What can I do?” he asked in a plaintive voice, begging his valet to give him a way out.

Jon didn’t care how pathetic he probably seemed in that moment. A prince begging his servant for help? He didn’t care, though. He was always a pretty poor prince, and Tollett seemed to be the only one on his side.

Tollett looked as lost as Jon felt. “Give me a day or so,” he said at last. “They won’t make you marry that quickly. It’s still a royal wedding, no matter what rumors there are about you. I’ll think of somewhere for you to hide. Mind you,” he warned, seeing the hope in Jon’s eyes, “it won’t be anywhere glamorous. You might have to slum it with the lower classes.”

Jon nodded eagerly. “I don’t mind,” he said quickly. Anything was better than marrying Viserys.

#

Robb tried to tune out his family’s chatter at the breakfast table. He didn’t feel like playing referee to whatever Sansa and Arya were bickering about. Their mother had apparently decided to take her breakfast in bed, and with Bran and Rickon both in the nursery, his conversation options were limited. 

He knew he should probably pay attention to his uncle and father’s conversation about the estate, but he honestly couldn’t summon the energy to do so. If the last few days had taught him anything, though, it was that his Uncle Brandon didn’t really need his input.

Despite his mother’s allegations that his uncle was “roguish,” he had a keen mind for business. Where some of the older estates had suffered in the modernizing world, Brandon, along with his Uncle Benjen, had diversified Winterfell’s lands and made them more profitable than ever. Robb’s job when he became earl would be to not screw that up. It would be a heavy responsibility, but not one that he would have to worry about for a while.

His biggest worry, though, was fitting into British society. Spending his summers at Winterfell growing up had not made him any less American. He knew he was expected to find a good English omega to marry and ensconce himself in the social scene of the British peerage. It wasn’t just, of course, for the sake of appearances. If he were to be an earl and involved in politics, he would have to be able to influence people.

It was a very daunting task. Particularly when his heart still yearned for the stormy grey eyes framed by dark curls and shy smile that he remembered from his youth.

He glanced up as the door opened, but went back to his breakfast once he realized it was only one of the footmen with his uncle’s paper. He felt bad as soon as the thought crossed his mind. He really should learn the name of the people who worked in the house. Just because they were servants, it didn’t mean they were lesser people.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by his uncle’s angry exclamation, “What the devil!”

Arya and Sansa’s heads snapped up with his as they looked to Brandon in askance.

“Viserys,” he hissed, shooting their father an angry glare. “The queen’s announced that Jon will be marrying _Viserys_.”

Robb scowled as a wave of possessiveness surged through him. He forcefully beat it down. Jon was not _his_ omega, despite his childhood belief that he would be. Still, Viserys? He had never met the man, but Jon had always described him as a bully. Why would Jon want to marry someone like that?

His father sighed sadly. “The queen probably wants to put an end to the rumors swirling around about him.”

Anger shot through Robb at that. “They aren’t _true_ ,” he spat, violently spearing a sausage with his fork. “Jon isn’t the person they make him out to be.”

“You haven’t seen him in five years, Robb,” Ned told him gently. “People change.”

“I agree with Robb,” Brandon declared, giving his brother a challenging look. “Lyanna’s boy was more withdrawn and introverted to do the things he’s accused of doing.”

“ _What_ is he supposed to have done?” Arya demanded, cutting into their argument. Sansa, too, looked curious to know the answer.

“It doesn’t matter,” their father said quickly, waving them off.

“It _does_ matter,” Arya insisted. “It’s _Jon_. We grew up with him. He was always like a brother to us! We deserve to know what’s being said about him.”

Sansa nodded in agreement. The fact that the two girls actually agreed on something probably convinced his father more than anything.

Robb was torn. While he thought about his sisters deserved to know, he was also a little worried that they would believe those awful rumors about Jon. His mother did, after all. She had spent the entire voyage over the Atlantic warning him to stay away from his cousin so as not to damage his own prospects.

He blamed his Aunt Lysa for that, though. Like her sister, Lysa had married into the English aristocracy, but unlike her sister, she had married an earl and was immersed in the English social scene.

At least, he thought bitter, that’s what _she_ would call. He called it being a gossipmonger. 

“There’s been talk that Jon has fallen into debauchery and promiscuity since his mother died,” Ned said, trying to make the rumors more palatable by using flowery words.

Robb watched as realization dawned in both of his sisters’ eyes. Arya scoffed immediately. “That’s not Jon.”

Sansa took a moment longer, furrowing her brow as she thought before she nodded in agreement. “It isn’t,” she stated with quiet conviction. “Is there any proof?”

Brandon shook his head. “Only rumor. Try as I might, I couldn’t track down a single person who has even _seen_ Jon since his mother died.”

Robb started at that. “Haven’t _you_ seen him since Aunt Lyanna died?”

“I don’t even know where he _lives_ anymore,” he admitted. Even his father looked shocked at that. “The queen had him moved from the Tower of Joy where he lived with Lyanna. I’m sure he’s on some property of crown or another, but I don’t know which. And all my letters to the boy have always gone unanswered.”

Ned frowned. “I hadn’t realized it was as serious as that. I had just assumed…”

“You believed your wife’s harpy of a sister!” Brandon accused. “I told you those rumors were baseless.”

“The whole country believes those rumors,” he said, sounding greatly troubled.

“Stupid idiots,” Arya muttered over her eggs.

Robb felt completely helpless as he picked listlessly at his breakfast. He wanted more than anything to track Jon down and scream at the whole of England for believing those terrible lies about him, but he wouldn’t even know where to begin to look.

And Jon was set to marry soon, he thought in despair.

#

“They were talking about the Black Prince at breakfast,” Pyp whispered conspiratorially as he and Grenn came down with the used dishes.

Both footmen started, though, at the sound of a deep voice clearing his throat behind them. Ygritte bit back a smile as Mormont glowered down at the two. The two were on thin ice, as it was, after Mormont had discovered that they were courting, though what else he expected, Ygritte only knew. The footmen necessarily spent a lot of time together, and any time a single alpha and omega spent that much time with each other, feelings were sure to develop.

“Mr. Singer, I am sure I misheard you,” the butler intoned, light tone belied by his stern glare. “Surely I did not hear you refer to a member of the royal family and, more importantly, _this_ family, by that disparaging name.”

Pyp looked stricken. “Of course not, Mr. Mormont.”

The two footmen escaped as soon as they could to attend the rest of their duties. Ygritte shook her head as she leaned over one of Lady Sansa’s dresses. The hem had ripped, and she had been asked to mend it. It was with some pride that she took up the duty. It was a duty that a lady’s maid would normally do. 

Since the two young ladies had arrived, Ygritte had taken up the unofficial role as their lady’s maid. It didn’t mean much, she knew, because ladies never actually got lady’s maids until they were married, but it showed that they had trust in her.

“He’s got them wound tightly, doesn’t he?” Greyjoy said, with that stupid smirk that seemed permanently glued to his face. 

She glared at him before pointedly resuming her work.

“He’s right, though,” the valet continued, his tone smug, as if he knew more than the rest of them. “Mr. Robb won’t take too kindly if he hears any of them slandering the prince.”

That piqued her curiosity enough to make her look up. They all knew that Lord Stark didn’t care for the rumors about his royal nephew, but the general agreement was that he just didn’t like the reminder. Not that he didn’t believe them. “And why would Mr. Robb care so much?”

Theon rolled his eyes. “He’s only been in love with him forever,” he said, as if it were a known fact.

“Go on,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “They haven’t even seen each other in five years, and they were barely more than boys then. You can’t be in love with someone that long that you only knew as a boy.”

“Maybe we can’t,” he said with a shrug. “Alphas and omegas are different.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale,” Ygritte told him. “Alphas and omegas aren’t all that different than us betas.”

“Oh yes, they are,” Greyjoy insisted, giving her a superior smile that she wanted to slap off. “Watch Pyp and Grenn sometimes, or even Tarly and Gilly, though they’re not as far along as the footment. They interact differently than us betas. It’s like they’re drawn to each other. Can’t stay away from each other.”

She thought about how Gilly had almost been instantly enamored with Sam Tarly, and she had to concede that Greyjoy might have a point.

“We’ve got an advantage there,” he told her, giving her a shark like smile. “We’re free.”

Ygritte leveled him with a stern stare, seeing through him easily. “Well, you’re free to bugger off,” she said, standing up and picking up her mending with a mind of finishing up in the boot room.

What a cad, she thought heatedly.

tbc…


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, sorry about posting the same chapter twice. But honestly, you're lucky it wasn't my notes on habeas corpus so there's that.

Tollett came to him early one morning a few days later, late enough so that Hudson would have already gone to bed. Jon had been living on tenterhooks since realizing that most of the staff were working for his uncle and cousin. If anything caught on that he was attempting to run, he knew he would be thwarted.

“Right, I’ve got you a couple extra sets of clothes in here,” Tollett told him, tossing a large, but worn, traveling bag on his bag. “Your cover story is going to be that you is going to be that you’re an orphan who grew up with his wealthy aunt and uncle. Very Jane Eyre like, if you will, except instead of being a governess, you’re going to be a schoolteacher.”

They had already gone over this, though Jon didn’t think tale was anything so romantic as Jane Eyre, not that Tollett used the allusion with anything but sarcasm. Jon wasn’t sure he could handle being a schoolteacher, but he really wasn’t in the position to go into any profession, really. For anything practical, really, he was basically useless.

Jon had forged a letter from his Great Uncle Aemon, who had abdicated from the line of succession and dedicated his life to academia. His letter of reference wouldn’t look too out of place, though, since his uncle loved to take on unconventional students. On the off chance that the headmaster of the school actually attempted to contact his uncle to validate his letter, Jon was certain Aemon wouldn’t give him away. The name Jon was using, “Jon Snow,” was a play on a a childhood joke between him and his uncle.

“I still think Wintertown is a gamble,” he said, stepping into the trousers Tollett had brought, not feeling a bit of self-consciousness dressing in front of the other omega. Servants had, after all, been dressing him for most of his life.

“Well, Wintertown is the only place where I have a cousin willing to do me a favor and vouch for your character sight unseen,” Tollett replied, helping him shrug into a brown wool jacket. “And it sets my mind at ease that you can always run to your uncle if things get a bit too dire.”

“I can’t though!” Jon hissed, balking at the very idea. “I’m committing treason going against a direct order of the queen! I can’t bring any of the Starks into it as well. I have to disappear and never come back. I won’t just be hiding for a little while…”

He swallowed thickly as his words sunk into his own brain. He could never come back. Sure, his life at the moment wasn’t that great, but leaving forever meant leaving behind all memories of his childhood. It meant leaving behind his mother. It meant never seeing Dany again. It meant never trying to rekindle his relationship with Rhaenys. It meant never speaking with his uncles or playing with his cousins again. It meant leaving behind his feelings for—

Jon cut his thoughts off at that. It hurt too much to think about.

“It’s not fair, your highness,” Tollett said in an attempt to comfort him.

“It’s Jon, Tollett,” he corrected, sniffing one last time before straightening and pulling himself together. “I’m not a prince anymore, and I’d like to think we’re friends enough to commit treason together.”

“Then I must insist you call me Edd, Jon,” he said. “Now turn around and let me do your hair.”

Jon did as bid. He tried to pay attention to what Edd was doing, knowing he would have to do it for himself for—well, for the rest of his life. Of course, Edd’s hands were much more deft than his and he had Jon’s wild mane of curls tamed into a tight bun at the base of his neck.

Jon slipped the cheap costume glasses on, with plain glass as the lenses, and turned towards the mirror. He nearly gasped at how different he looked. Any fears that his uncles or anyone from Winterfell might recognize him flew out the window. _He_ barely recognized himself.

Gone was the curly haired prince in his pressed fine suits. In his place, was a pale, working-class omega with his hair pulled back tightly in an ill-fitting cheap jacket. Jon Targaryen had well and truly been replaced by Jon Snow.

He turned back to Edd, who gave him a sad smile. “Come on,” he said gently, shouldering the bag for him once more. “If I’m to get the car back before anyone wakes up, we’ll have to hurry.”

Jon nodded and followed Edd down the stairs towards the door. It felt odd to be sneaking out through the front door, but it was the door where the rest of the servants would be least likely to be around.

Edd threw his back in the back of the cab, not bothering to strap it into the boot like he normally would. Jon climbed into the cab, and they were quickly on their way to the train station to catch the first train to London. Jon was lucky, he knew, that Edd knew how to drive a car, a skill that not many valets had.

There thankfully wasn’t many people milling around the station when they pulled up. Jon took a deep breath as he stepped out of the car. This was the point of no return, he knew. If he got on a train, he would be gone for good.

He turned to Edd. This would probably be the last time he ever saw his valet ever again. “Thank you,” he said sincerely, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for this man who had helped him when he had every reason not to. It suddenly occurred to Jon that, with him gone, Edd didn’t even have a job to return to.

“Good luck, Jon,” Edd replied, brushing off his thanks and thrusting out a hand.

In a fit of thoroughly un-British emotion, Jon ignored the hand and pulled the man into a quick embrace. “I mean it,” he whispered as he pulled away. “I can never repay you for this.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, obviously not sure how to answer Jon’s gratitude. “Now best get your ticket and get settled before the train leaves without you.”

Jon resisted the urge to look back as he heard the car start up as he walked towards the ticket booth. He must have looked quite different indeed that the man selling tickets didn’t even bat an eyelash at him. He wasn’t quite such a recluse that he shouldn’t have been recognized by the people in town.

Though he did have a good many pounds that he had stashed away through the years, following his mother’s advice to _always_ have emergency funds handy at all times, he wasn’t foolish enough to waste more money than necessary on a first class ticket.

Steeling his resolve, Jon stepped onto the train to begin his new life.

#

Rhaenys stormed the palace in London as soon as she heard that the queen had returned to her residence there. Well, she stormed as much as dignity would allow her, at least. After all, it would not do for a princess to be running through the halls of Red Keep in a pique of anger. However, if it _were_ proper, she would damn well being doing it now.

Honestly, whatever was her grandmother thinking.

She burst into her grandmother’s tea without bothering to wait for permission. It was an impertinence she knew that only she could get away with.

Rhaella barely looked up from her tea at the disruption, which only made Rhaenys angrier. As if she were _expecting_ Rhaenys.

“Viserys, Grandmama?” she snapped furiously. Had she been any less ladylike, she would be screaming. At times she wished she had Stannis’s ability to be cold with her anger, but now, the burning fire inside of her was quite satisfying. “You’d give my baby brother to that beast?”

The very idea of her sweet little Jon in Viserys’s clutches made her want to claw someone’s eyes out, particularly someone with silver hair and purple eyes.

The queen gave her an unimpressed stare. “If you had looked after your brother before now, it would not have come to this.”

“You and I both know that all those terrible things they say about Jon are baseless rumors,” Rhaenys growled as she paced the room.

“I know no such thing,” Rhaella told her, causing Rhaenys to pause to gape at her. Her grandmother raised her brow guilelessly. “My dear, you are right that baseless rumors and tales are bandied about about all of us, but when those rumors become concentrated in facts given to me by a member of the Peerage, I cannot ignore them.”

“And who gave you these facts?” Rhaenys demanded. “How can be sure they aren’t lying?”

“I will not give you a name,” she replied firmly. “I will not give you a target. But I will say that this person has no reason to lie. She has no connection to either Viserys or Jon, or you or Aegon for that matter.”

 _She_. Rhaenys latched onto the word and began mentally compiling a list of possible women who might have lied to the queen. “You would believe this mystery woman over your own blood?”

Rhaella sniffed. “Jon did not deny anything.”

“Oh, did you even give him a chance,” she accused, beginning her pacing once more. “Once you decide you’re right, you steamroll over everyone.”

“Don’t be overdramatic, dear,” was the exasperated reply. “As if I have ever been able to steamroll over any of my grandchildren. If I could, Aegon wouldn’t be married to that spanish harlot, and you wouldn’t be the second wife to an untitled merchant.”

She didn’t rise to the insults to either Stannis or her cousin Arianne. There was no need to rekindle those arguments. Not when her baby brother was on the line.

“You kept me from visiting him without an invitation,” Rhaenys said instead. “You told me I’d be pushing in on his grief, and then you warned me from getting involved. You wouldn’t even tell me where you had stashed him!”

She shouldn’t have let any of that stop her. She should have visited every property owned by the crown and turned the country upside down in her search.

“I hadn’t meant to keep it a secret from you,” the queen stated regretfully. “At first, I was sure he would send you letters in time once his grief over his mother had passed. And then, when the rumors began to fly, I didn’t want you caught up in the scandal.”

“You could have sent him to stay with me,” Rhaenys told her. “You could have sent him north to Lord Stark. That would have stopped the rumors.”

“But not the scandal.”

She growled in frustration. “So Viserys was the only option! Grandmama, you know what he is like.”

The queen sighed in defeat. “Jon has made his bed, Rhaenys, and now he has to lie in it. Besides, after Aegon spurned Daenerys, this at least might give us some peace with your uncle.”

Rhaenys scoffed. “Peace with Uncle Aerys will only come if Viserys ends up on the throne. If anything, you’ve just given him a tool for his plotting.”

This wasn’t the end of it, she vowed. She would stop this wedding from happening.

#

Though he hadn’t thought coming to Wintertown a good idea, Jon was grateful for the familiarity of Wintertown station as he stepped off his train. The prospect of starting a new life would have been even more daunting in a strange setting.

He walked towards the front of the station, with the mind of getting a cab to the school. The headmaster was meant to be expecting him. Before he could hail a cab, though, he heard a voice calling out to him.

“Mr. Snow!”

He turned to see a formidable woman with dark hair and blue eyes stalking towards him. Though she looked intimidating, she had a kind smile and gentle eyes.

“I thought that might be you,” she said as she drew closer, looping her arm through his as if they were old friends. “I’m Karsi Giantsbane, Eddy’s cousin. He’s told me I’m to look after you. I figured I’d start by making sure you got to the school alright.”

Jon colored. “I’m grateful, Mrs. Giantsbane, but I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“Oh, I’m sure my brood will give you trouble enough in class to repay me,” she told him cheekily. “My husband and I run the pub that’s only a short walk from the school house, so I also expect your patronage.”

Jon felt a bit tongue-tied in her presence, but felt compelled to speak anyway. It would be awfully rude of him to remain sullenly silent, as was his habit.

“I wouldn’t worry about that, Mrs. Giantsbane,” he responded good-naturedly. “I’m not much of a cook, and I will have to get my meals somewhere.”

“It’s Karsi, to you,” she told him sternly with a twinkle in her eye. “Edd speaks very highly of you in his letters, and must hold you in high regard to ask me to speak your in favor. Eddy never was one to ask anyone for help if it weren’t important. Now come on, I’ve got our horse and wagon over here.”

Jon once more felt a deep well of gratitude of his former valet as he climbed into the wagon. “Is there a room at your pub that I can rent until I can find a place?” he asked, pressing on.

“There won’t be a need of that,” Karsi told him, spurring the horse on once Jon was settled. “The school provides lodging for its teachers. They aren’t anything like the big house, of course, but I hear they’re nice enough.”

Jon assumed “the big house” was Winterfell, but he was happy to hear that he wouldn’t have to worry about finding a place to live.

“Don’t look so worried, Mr. Snow,” Karsi told him teasingly, knocking his elbow. “You’ll enjoy living in Wintertown. It’s a good little village. And you’ve come at just the right time! What, with the American Starks settling in and causing quite a stir.”

Jon started at that. American Starks? His heart skipped a beat in his chest.

_Robb was here._

tbc..


	4. Chapter Four

Stannis barely glanced up as his fiery wife burst through the doors of the library, nearly knocking over the poor footman that attempted to open the doors for her. 

He loved his wife’s spirit, but reacting to her propensity for dramatics would only stoke the flames. He shouldn’t complain, though. It was that propensity that had allowed for their marriage to even exist. Stannis might not believe himself beneath anyone in the country, but even he wasn’t so proud as to believe he would have had the mental fortitude to turn English high society on its head without the strong alpha princess. 

Stannis might have been a very wealthy businessman, but a widowed up-jumped commoner was hardly the desired match for a princess.

“She’s sacrificing Jon to appease my worthless Uncle Aerys,” Rhaenys raged without preamble. “Who won’t be pleased until he’s used Jon to usurp both Aegon and myself.”

It wasn’t a terrible plan on her uncle’s part, Stannis thought privately. Aegon had spent the majority of his life in Spain with his mother’s family, even going so far to to marrying his Spanish cousin. It hadn’t endeared him to anyone in the country. And his marriage to Rhaenys had certainly rubbed the English aristocracy the wrong way. Even with the rumors about Jon, with a marriage to Viserys, there were many that might see him as the better option.

“Jon surely wouldn’t go along with something like that?” Stannis asked. He had only just married Rhaenys when Princess Lyanna died, but his wife’s younger brother had struck him as quiet and withdrawn. Nothing like those ghastly rumors would paint him as.

“Oh, like Viserys would give him a say,” Rhaenys sneered, throwing herself on the settee and scowling into the fire. “As soon as Jon is ensnared in that marriage, Viserys will have him stamped down and will not allow him to have an opinion of his own.” She choked on a pained sort of noise and looked down.

Stannis rose, knowing his wife enough to know that she was holding back tears. He settled next to her on the settee and wrapped an arm around her. She curled into him and let out a stifled sob. He hated seeing his normally strong wife like this.

“He’s my baby brother,” she said after she had regained herself a bit. “Jon was always such a sweet little boy. He doesn’t deserve to be given to some beast and used so thoroughly.”

“I feel bad for the boy, but I don’t know if there’s anything to be done, my dear,” Stannis replied. “How can we fight the queen’s wishes?”

Rhaenys’ dark eyes hardened as she straightened. “I’ve fought her wishes before, and I’ll do it now for Jon. But we’re going to need allies.”

He resisted the urge to sigh at that. Allies meant mingling with more members of the aristocracy, which he only tended to do when absolutely necessary for business. Still, he would do what he must. Prince Jon was his wife’s brother, which meant he was Stannis’s as well. Though he wasn’t close to his own brothers, one being too brash and the other too flashy, he understood the need to look to look after one’s family.

#

The cottage assigned to him by the school wasn’t a large place. It was only two rooms and a small privy. It was lightly furnished, which Jon was grateful for, as he wanted to save as much money as possible going forward.

It was a strange thing for him, worrying about money. He had never really had to think about it at all before. Now he was thinking about a good many things that he had never thought about before.

“There’s no real room for much entertaining, I’m afraid,” Jorah Mormont, the headmaster of the school, told him. When Karsi had dropped him at the school and he had realized that the son of Winterfell’s butler had become the headmaster of school, Jon was sure that he would be found out. 

Jeor Mormont had been a sort of grandfather figure for Jon growing up. Whenever he had visited Winterfell without his cousins, Jon had always sneaked away from his nanny to go downstairs and follow Mormont around. While the old butler ran the staff of Winterfell with an iron fist, Jon liked to think he had had a soft spot for him, if only for his mother’s sake.

He supposed that, on the few occasions he had crossed paths with Mormont’s son, he hadn’t really made much of an impression.

“I don’t suppose I’ll be doing much entertaining,” Jon replied. He wasn’t entirely sure he would remember how to be a good host even if he tried.

Jorah nodded. “The kitchen is small but serviceable, and Lady Stark’s patronage allowed us to install indoor plumbing in the school and teachers’ cottages.”

“Lady Stark?” Jon asked in surprise. “I hadn’t realized Lord Stark had married?”

He felt awful at not knowing the going-ons in his own family. If his Uncle Brandon had married, did that mean he had more cousins?

“I meant the Dowager Lady Stark, of course,” Jorah clarified before giving him a sidelong look. “Are you knowledgeable about our local earl?”

Jon flushed, realizing he had slipped. “My mother was from the county,” he stammered, hoping he didn’t sound like a fool. “Keeping up with the county news I suppose helped me feel close to her. It’s why I jumped at the chance to take a job here.”

Unfortunately for him, his explanation caused a spark of curiosity to alight in Jorah’s eyes. “Oh really? What was her family name? My family’s been around her forever. Perhaps our families know each other.”

He panicked at the question. He couldn’t very well say “Stark.”

“You know, I don’t know,” Jon lied instead, walking further into the cottage so to avoid the headmaster’s eyes. He always was an awful liar, but he would have to get better if he were going to pull of his new life. “I was raised by my father’s sister and she never really said.”

“How sad,” Jorah remarked before steering the conversation to safer grounds. “The school doesn’t have laundry facilities, but there’s a public laundress in town that’s fairly reasonable.”

That was a relief to hear. Jon hadn’t even _thought_ of laundry. He hated that there were so many things that he just took for granted in his previous privileged life.

“I’m sure I’ll manage just fine,” he said, swallowing down his growing terror at the suddenly very daunting life ahead of him. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Jorah told him, giving him a nod. “Let me know if you need anything. Classes don’t start for another two weeks, so you’ll have plenty of time to settle in before then.”

Jon waited a few minutes after Jorah left to be sure he was well and truly gone before he collapsed on the worn sofa and curled in on himself. He sobbed as the weight of what he had done seemed to fall in on him all at once.

He had to stop falling to pieces like this, he scolded himself, even as he fells sideways and buried his face into the cushions, curling his legs up onto the sofa as well. He had done his crying before he left Dragonstone House. He had to be strong now.

He would be strong tomorrow, he decided dismissively, resolved to wallow in his own self-pity for the moment.

#

As big as Winterfell was, Arya quickly became bored of it. Sure, it was nice to be out in the country with plenty of room to go horseback riding, but there really wasn’t much else to do. Her mother would suggest she utilize Winterfell’s expansive library, but honestly, who would want to read _that_ much?

She missed New York. There were all kinds of different people to meet in New York. So many people to talk to. Here, the only people to talk to were her family, and while she loved them all, they were a bit dull. Especially Sansa, who seemed like the only one about when Arya was searching for company.

Today would be different, Arya had decided at breakfast after watching Robb go off with their uncles to talk about the estate and her father take Bran and Rickon out for the day to teach them cricket. Arya didn’t have any interest in cricket, which was apparently like baseball with more rules. Not caring to ask what Sansa, the only one left at the table as their mother had taken breakfast in bed, was up to for the rest of the day, Arya’s eye landed on Mormont as he stood at ready by the breakfast bar, and she knew exactly what she was going to do that day.

She excused herself from the table, giving Sansa an innocent smile when her sister looked at her oddly. Arya made a quick escape while Mormont was still in the dining room, knowing the stern butler would likely disapprove of her plan.

She bypassed the grand staircase that would lead her to the gallery and her own bedroom, instead moving towards the discreet, barely noticeable door in the paneling next to staircase that led to the one part of the castle that was never as still and quiet during the day as the upstairs portion could be.

Arya had descended most of the stairs before she was nearly bowled over by the redheaded maid that helped her and Sansa dress.

“M’lady!” she exclaimed, stepping back and giving her a wide-eyed look over the stack of linens in her arms. “Can I help you with anything?”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, thank you, Ygritte,” she replied. “And I’m not ‘m’lady.’ I’m Arya. Are you going to make the beds? Can I help?”

Arya had no real interest in making beds, of course. Who in their right mind _would_? But she also knew that if she wanted to make friends with the downstairs people, she had to break the barrier between “m’lady” and normal person. And normal people made beds.

“I don’t think that’d be proper, ma’am,” Ygritte told her, taken aback by her request.

“Good thing I’m not very proper then,” Arya replied, taking half the pile of linens from her and nodding at her to lead the way.

Ygritte looked hardly certain as she led Arya out up the stairs to the family bedrooms. “M’lady…”

“Arya,” she reminded undeterred as she entered into Bran’s bedroom and unceremoniously began stripping the bed. “Are you going to help?” she asked Ygritte slyly, biting back a laugh at her dumbfounded look.

She managed to at least get Ygritte to call her “Arya” by the time they were done making all the beds. Though the redhead had far from opened up, Arya still counted it as a win. It would take time for the staff to get comfortable enough with her to forget social boundaries. Deciding she had made as much headway with Ygritte that day as she could, she headed down to the kitchen to see who else she could make friends with.

She managed to slip into the kitchen without anyone noticing her too much. Since luncheon was still a little aways, they didn’t seem as busy as they could be. That was good. If they were busy, Arya would only be annoying.

She immediately honed in on her target, a young omega boy about her age, with a round face who was busy kneading dough by himself on one end of the long, wide wooden table set in the middle of the room.

“What are you doing?” Arya asked as she snuck up to his side, causing him to violently start and nearly fling his dough across the room.

“M-m’lady” he stuttered out, gaping at her. “Can I help you?”

“My name is Arya,” she replied with a smile. “I just came down to talk. What are you doing?”

“Oh,” he said, still looking confused. “I were just kneading the dough for the tarts tonight.”

“Can I watch?” she asked. “What’s your name?”

“Sure,” he replied hesitantly. “And I’m Hot Pie.”

Arya wrinkled her nose. “That’s not a name!”

Hot Pie shrugged as he continued his kneading. “It’s the only name I got.”

She opened her mouth to pester him for answers, but Mrs. Mordane walked into the kitchen and gave her a look. “My lady, can I help you?” she asked her in a tone that sounded very judgmental to Arya’s ears.

“I was just learning how to knead dough from Hot Pie,” she answered guilelessly.

The housekeeper looked far from impressed. “I’m sure you have more important things to do, and Hot Pie is much too busy to be distracted.”

Arya scowled, but decided not to push it. She shot Hot Pie a grin and mouthed “I’ll be back” to him as she allowed the housekeeper to shoo her upstairs once more.

She sat down to luncheon with Sansa and her mother later on and felt a sense of accomplishment that she had at least found a new way to pass the time at Winterfell.

#

“I received a letter from Lady Tyrell today,” his mother announced at dinner over their savory course. Robb frowned at this. Since when was his mother in correspondence with anyone in England but Aunt Lysa? “She and her daughter are touring Scotland and have asked to stop at Winterfell on their way back so that they can taken in the moors.”

“There’s not enough moorland to satisfy them in Scotland?” Uncle Brandon asked, a sardonic bite to his words.

Catelyn shot him a glare. His mother and uncle had always clashed with each other, but Robb couldn’t help but notice that the years they had kept away from England seemed to only have made it worse.

“Perhaps Lady Tyrell simply wishes to welcome us back to England,” Catelyn replied primly.

“Or perhaps,” Granny cut in, her voice all sweetness, “Lady Tyrell wishes to foist her daughter onto one of the few bachelor heirs to an estate as large and self-sufficient as Winterfell.”

Robb blanched at that. He didn’t know why he found the idea of marrying Lady Tyrell’s daughter or anyone else caused his stomach to turn as it did. Well, perhaps he did, but with Jon destined for his own wedding soon, it hardly seemed like something he should dwell on.

“We haven’t been here two weeks,” his father reminded his mother. “We can save the matchmaking for at least until this season.”

“Do they even have the London season anymore?” Sansa asked, shifting the topic of conversation. “I’ve heard it wasn’t really done anymore.”

“It’s still done,” Uncle Benjen answered, “but it’s not nearly as big of an event since the war.”

Ignoring the rest of the conversation, Robb leaned over and made a quiet plead to his uncle over his grandmother’s plate, “Please don’t let her start inviting debutantes and socialites here in the hopes of marrying me off.”

Before Brandon could answer, Granny cleared her throat and gave Robb a stern look, “While I do not approver of her methods, and think you can do _much better_ than the daughter of a third rate baron, you will have to marry eventually, regardless of your uncle’s example.”

Brandon, though, gave him an understanding smile. “I’ll do my best.”

They separated from the ladies after supper, which left him alone with his father and his uncles. Without either his mother or grandmother around, he was certain he could get them on his side enough to keep the Tyrells at least at bay.

“Father, you’re not going to let Mother invite Lady Tyrell here with the sole purpose of selling her daughter to me, are you?” he asked, sitting down heavily on the sofa in the library with a scotch in his hand.

Ned looked resigned as he took a seat on the settee across from him. “Son, I don’t think I could stop that train if I tried.”

“It won’t be so bad,” Benjen told him with a smirk and a wink. “There are worse things than having a pretty girl throw herself at you.”

“I don’t want her to throw herself at me,” Robb insisted with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t want anything to do with her or anyone else for that matter.” His father and uncles shared knowing looks. “What?”

It was Brandon who gave a heavy sigh and took a seat next to him, clasping him on the shoulder. “Robb, son, we know why no one really seems appealing to you. It’s Jon, isn’t it?”

Robb was startled at that and stared slack-jawed at his uncle before turning his head to see Ned and Benjen giving him sympathetic looks. How had they known? He had never said anything to _anyone_. 

“Anyone who ever saw the two of you together could see that the two of you had accepted each other in a way that only alphas and omegas really understand,” Brandon went on, “which is a concept your mother has always fought against.”

“Brandon,” Ned said with a hint of warning in his voice.

“It’s why we never believed those rumors about Jon,” Benjen explained.

“Jon’s going to be married,” Robb said after a long pause, his voice sounding plaintive and weak to his ears. Jon was going to be married to someone who was not _him_. The very thought made him want to scream and rage and break down and cry. Jon was supposed to be _his_.

“I know,” Brandon said, a sad note in his voice. “And there’s nothing we can do about it. So maybe you should try to find some happiness of your own.”

“Jon is not going to be _happy_ ,” Robb sneered, shrugging his uncle’s hand off of his shoulder and standing in anger. “His grandmother is giving him to a _brute_. How will that make him happy?

His father stood and put his hands on Robb’s shoulders. “His grandmother is the queen,” he said in a placating voice. “There’s nothing we can do.”

For that little boy inside him that had always thought his father and uncles could do anything, the admission was a staggering blow. For the alpha in him, though, it was completely unacceptable.

tbc…


End file.
